Axelgear
General Wontwit
The battle is over, but the war is lost. All over Creation, the Solar Deliberative has been broken; a knife thrust in its back by those meant to serve it and guide it. The Princes of the Earth have been betrayed by those in whom they placed their trust and now it sets in fully.
All those present on the yacht Glorious Horizon now feel the weight of the battle on their shoulders. As the Dragon-Blooded breathe their last, loyalist and traitor alike, their former lords stand as the sole survivors, facing capsized and floundering vessels and bodies drifting in the water. The assault came at night, and the fires that burn dimly offer slight illumination beneath the stars. Luna does not watch tonight, her eye hidden, her cloak covering her Chosen that flee from the sides of their mates torn asunder.
Amongst the assassins who tried to kill their lords was a single Sidereal. He did not do more than touch all of you once; a single light brush of his hand, far deadlier and more insidious than any punch. In death, he appears in perfect repose, the mark of a cicada burned into his forehead. The traitor knew he would likely not survive and had prepared that, in death, he would not be brought back from the brink. His soul moved into Lethe moments after the koan left his lips but his purpose was complete.
Now, all stood in silence, but for the lap of the waves, able to see the inky blackness stretch from the deck to the horizon as the full weight of what had occurred, and the death sentence placed over their heads began to come to the fore.
Ninety Nine Days of Grace begin now.
All those present on the yacht Glorious Horizon now feel the weight of the battle on their shoulders. As the Dragon-Blooded breathe their last, loyalist and traitor alike, their former lords stand as the sole survivors, facing capsized and floundering vessels and bodies drifting in the water. The assault came at night, and the fires that burn dimly offer slight illumination beneath the stars. Luna does not watch tonight, her eye hidden, her cloak covering her Chosen that flee from the sides of their mates torn asunder.
Amongst the assassins who tried to kill their lords was a single Sidereal. He did not do more than touch all of you once; a single light brush of his hand, far deadlier and more insidious than any punch. In death, he appears in perfect repose, the mark of a cicada burned into his forehead. The traitor knew he would likely not survive and had prepared that, in death, he would not be brought back from the brink. His soul moved into Lethe moments after the koan left his lips but his purpose was complete.
Now, all stood in silence, but for the lap of the waves, able to see the inky blackness stretch from the deck to the horizon as the full weight of what had occurred, and the death sentence placed over their heads began to come to the fore.
Ninety Nine Days of Grace begin now.